More than three sentences.

I find myself leaning back in my office chair, eyes closed, listening to a recording session that happened across the ocean, decades ago. It’s a working session—something that by all rights I should never have been able to hear. Voices echo over the tape, beautiful and intimate, and I can almost feel the room around me when suddenly the music stops. A start, then another stop, and then a moment. A single word.


Just a flash—a moment—and it begins again, and this time I feel the air leaving my body, replaced by a feeling—something like being covered by the lead blanket at the dentists’ office. What feels like years of tension eases out of my shoulders. It’s perfect. (It’s magic.)

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